


my heart is warm (and it's bright with love)

by fuechsli



Series: hearts [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: And then it's not, Andrew giving Neil hope, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, It's Soft, M/M, Misunderstandings, Trixie - Freeform, a phone - Freeform, and fluffy, criminology professor!andrew, homeless!neil, the cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-03 21:13:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14004882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuechsli/pseuds/fuechsli
Summary: where there's christmas gifts and hope, a future;where there's gentleness and kindred spirits and something like love;where's there'stoo muchandnot enough, and it's not all fairy-cakes and sunshine; there's a need for communication and to talk things through, andAndrew won't let this slip through his fingers.-continuation of my homeless!Neil AUit's basically snippets from building their life together, with all the ups and downs





	1. christmas gifts

**Author's Note:**

> yes, the title's stupid and will change as soon as i think of something better. it will have to do for now, though.
> 
> anyway. you may want to read 'the night is cold (but my heart is warm)' first, in order for this to make sense. or don't, be rebellious :D
> 
> so, this was thought as a valentine’s fic, at the beginning. yes, i know it’s a little late for that. but it also got out of hand, and except for a few mentions, there’s not much that’s valentine-y about it anymore. enjoy the first two chapters, and don’t read on if you don’t want to cry afterwards. (because i did and i _never_ do when writing my own stuff)

Thirty-seven minutes and twelve seconds after Andrew first says “I hate you” to Neil he presses a small, rectangular packet into Neil’s hands, looks him in the eye for a second and says, “Don’t look at me like that.”

Neil swallows, throat tight. It’s the first time anyone’s given him anything since—well, he doesn’t really remember; isn’t sure he wants to. It’d be nice if this were another thing that makes Andrew different from everyone else, and that can only be a good thing. 

His fingers almost don’t shake when he pulls his legs in so that he’s sitting cross-legged on the rooftop and sets the packet down in his lap. 

It’s wrapped. 

Neil knows Andrew didn’t buy it for him. And yet. It’s here now, in _Neil’s_ hands.

He looks up, wants to say something about that, and then his eyes lock with Andrew’s gaze. He closes his mouth again, and doesn’t say anything. Smiling to himself and looking back down at the gift seems like the safer option. 

Neil unwraps the packet with careful fingers that _don’t_ shake, and he just stares when he sees what it is. 

“Why would you…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. Can’t. 

Andrew clicks his tongue, and there’s an annoyed look on his face when Neil glances up at him again. “Because. Why not?” 

Another beat. 

Neil’s throat is tight and he feels hollow; filled to the brim with emotion, conflicted. 

Andrew sighs, holds out his hand. “Come on, give me that if you’re not gonna unpack it any time soon. It’s fucking cold out here.” 

“Oh,” Neil makes, blinks, numbly reaches out. Andrew has to tug at the packet once, twice, until Neil’s fingers let go of it. He feels oddly bereft afterwards, although he knows that Andrew won’t change his mind right now. 

Andrew makes quick work of the rest of the wrapping, takes off the lid of the box, tosses aside instruction manuals, presses charger and cable into Neil’s numb hands with insistence and a deep look, and then he flips open the phone. Neil isn’t quite sure what he does then, caught up in the memory of the last time he’s ever held a cell phone in his hands, the dried blood that’s stuck into the ridges between the keys, and he suppresses a shudder. This is different, he knows. This means something else entirely, has a whole other context, even if, at the core, it’s the same thing. He _knows_ that. But that doesn’t mean he understands it. 

“What are you doing?” Neil croaks out eventually, when the silence stretches on a little too long, and though there’s a line of concentration between Andrew’s eyebrows and he’s squinting down at the display, he looks up immediately at the tone of his voice. 

“Giving you my number,” Andrew says, as though he doesn’t turn Neil’s whole world upside down with those few words, with that little bit of truth. With that suddenly physical assurance that the future is actually within reach; that Neil can touch it if he wants to, and it won’t turn into a mist of lost dreams and hopeless hopes. 

A moment later, Andrew sets down a black and a silver flip phone side by side on the roof in between the two of them. 

Neil stares. There’s a scratch across the display of the black one. 

Andrew flips it open and presses some buttons; a few seconds pass where nothing happens, then the display of the other phone—Neil’s, apparently—lights up. 

The ringtone chills him to the bone. Andrew looks at him, a tilt to his lips that Neil can’t quite interpret. 

He stares down at the phone, lets it ring. In his head, there’s chaos. 

Andrew breaks through it as easily as he seems to do everything else, or maybe as though he’s learned his own way through the chaos a long time ago; as though it’s a familiar enemy, but not a mortal one anymore. “Your phone is ringing,” he says. “You should answer it.” 

Neil picks it up automatically at that; his fingers numb and fumbling when he opens it, his eyes caught on the name on the display. He swallows, puts it to his ear. “Hello?” 

It’s ridiculous, but somehow he’s still surprised when Andrew’s clear voice actually answers him. “You are not fine. You know that. I know that. But if you give me this chance, if you stay in this city, answer your phone when it rings and call me if you need to, then, I promise you, you can learn for yourself how to be fine. It’s not easy, it won’t be quick. But if you trust me on this I’ll teach you. Let you find your own way, get you off the street, back on your feet. What you do with your life afterwards is your choice alone. But I’d like to know that you’ll be fine, wherever you are.”

Neil’s tongue is heavy in his mouth, his thoughts a whirlwind, and the words slip free before he’s entirely aware of them. “And what if I don’t want to leave?”

“Then you don’t.” 

“It’s not that easy.” Neil’s voice cracks on that; his face heats, but he can’t bring himself to look away from Andrew now. 

“No,” Andrew says, simply. “But it can be.”

“How?” And now it breaks; stuck in his throat, caught on the barbs and wire and ramparts that Neil has built around himself too long ago. 

“Honesty. Trust. Promises that you know will be kept. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. Don’t think you can do this all by yourself and still turn out all right, because _that’s_ not easy; it’s pretty much impossible.”

Neil doesn’t know what to say to that, so he only hums, thoughtfully, gaze locked on Andrew’s. He closes his eyes, then, let’s his head give in, nods a little. It’s not quite a promise; it’s consent and assurance, the will to try this, wherever it may lead. 

It’s the step towards the future that Neil has always been afraid to take. 

 


	2. paths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn, i'm really cutting it close to my promised two weeks here.   
> but, i finally got around to editing the second chapter and i might be able to finish off the last one too, but i don't know yet because i've currently got so many open projects and i'm kinda having a hard time even remembering where my own head's at, so. 
> 
> anyway.   
> this is pure fluff, the last chapter turned out not to be as bad as i made it sound, so you really don't need to worry :)

It leads here: to soft bedsheets, rumpled hair and a pillow-creased face that greets him in the morning; to meowing out of three throats, hungry barking out of one more, because their pets want to be fed in the morning and they’ll never let them forget about that fact, even if it’s Valentine’s Day.   
It leads to keys, kisses, a home.   
One chocolate box bought in advance and several dozen more waiting to be purchased when they’re on sale just the day after.   
Feeble rays of sunlight and thick woolen scarves that really scratch more than they’re comfortable, but Nicky’s discovered a new hobby and they’ve already taken his joy out of hanging up mistletoes, so they figure they can make up for it by actually wearing the damned things; late mornings spent in bed and early afternoons outside in the cold, a three-legged dog at their side, followed by three four-legged cats that seem to have adopted Trixie as one of their own and are now convinced that they ought to be present for their walks.   
It leads to a family bigger than what Neil ever thought possible; the feeling to just belong that’s always been impossibly out of reach.   
They’re not blissfully happy.   
Andrew’s been right about that; as he usually is about most things, although Neil won’t admit to that under any circumstances.   
It’s not been easy. It’s a hard path, winding and not always with a clear goal, with the knowledge that it will be alright in the end, because no one can promise that. But for each ravine there’s been the hill of hope, things starting to get better, step by agonizing step.   
There’s Exy.   
Trixie.  
Kevin.  
Andrew.   
Riko and Neil’s father.   
The problems don’t just disappear, and the nightmares still frequent Neil’s mind when he’s letting down his walls. Which he’s started to do more often. Trying to be honest, to scrape the raw truth from his bones, bare the wounds in order to give them the chance to heal.   
There’s a woman called Betsy and her calm voice and her hot chocolate. She’s started having tea in her office for when Neil visits her.   
There’s a college scholarship for Mathematics, giving Neil the chance to catch up on all that he’s missed and to build a future for himself without having to rely on stolen money and risky contacts, or on Andrew.   
There’s a gentleness in Andrew’s eyes when he looks at him, the surprise about the fact that Neil’s still here, still with him, when he could have taken the chance, the first time they started screaming at each other for some stupid reason, and run away. When he could have gotten away before dragging himself deeper down the rabbit hole. Neil is still working on convincing Andrew that it’s not like that, and it will never be. Because for all the nice words that Andrew’s throwing around with, there’s still a rather big part of him that doesn’t quite believe in them; doesn’t quite realize that the same thing applies for him as well.   
It leads to panic attacks and soft assurances, to promises and fights, to an understanding between two people that’s deeper than anything Neil has ever believed in.   
Betsy says, once, in a joint session, that she’s impressed with the both of them. It’s seldom to have something like this; the kind of profound trust and honesty that’s always been the base of their relationship. Since the very beginning it’s been hard for Neil to keep secrets from Andrew; and the longer they spent together, the more Andrew himself started unraveling, started trusting and believing, always at a pace that was good for the both of them, not too fast and only what they were okay with; but it’d started coming together; puzzle pieces slotting together as though that’s what they were meant to be since the start. A picture that’s just right, and there’s so little wrong about it.   
It’s not fate, and there’s no passionate kind of poetry about it. It’s two people finding each other at the right time, in the right point of their lives, and there’s not much else to be said.

-

And yet, that doesn’t mean it’s easy or magical; rather on the opposite — sometimes it requires blood and sweat and tears, at times more literally than others. But it’s work that always, always pays off; because this is worthwhile.   
(They just have to find out about that the hard way.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, i hope you liked this :)  
> and i'd be really interested to hear your thoughts (and maybe see if some of you have an inkling about what the next chapter's drama might be about?)
> 
> thanks for reading!


	3. nothings and everythings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eh. so this is it. the dreaded last chapter. 
> 
> it's not as bad as i made it seem in the beginning, i think. it's just--something i thought might make for good angst in this AU and so i wrote it, because even though this was supposed to be a happy little thing i just can't help myself. 
> 
> i hope the ending makes up for the rest though.
> 
> let me know what you think :)

Twelve months, twenty-four days, twenty-three hours, twelve minutes and thirty-four seconds after Andrew first says “ _I hate you_ ” to Neil he says “this is nothing”, and there’s the memory of strange hands on Andrew’s body, acrid breath and a touch he doesn’t want, and then Neil flinches back from him. His expression shutters, closing off from Andrew, as he wraps his arms around his middle as though to protect himself from something—or maybe to keep it in, that deep ache that starts in the midst of his chest and starts spreading outwards; tingles all over his body until it numbs, disbelieving of the foolishness he’s let himself cling to. It’s a small part of his mind that screams at him ‘ _lie_ ’, that tells him that it isn’t like this, _Andrew doesn’t mean it_. The bigger part of him is used to being kicked to the curb, to being overlooked and ignored; to being _nothing_. It hurts more than he’d expected to hear it confirmed from Andrew. He’s always been and always will be nothing; a few months of something like hope don’t change that, not really. Even when there’s keys in his hands and kisses on his lips; why should that mean anything?

He’s not being fair, but thinking is difficult at the moment; even breathing is hard. He’s unused to such a kind of ache that doesn’t have any physical root. 

It’s disconcerting. Dangerous, disquieting. 

It’s really fucking painful.

He shouldn’t have allowed himself to feel this much. Should have stopped it before it escalated, led to this, and to this being nothing. 

He takes a breath that rattles through his chest on its way down to his lungs, and he fights to keep his voice even when he says, “Okay. I see.” and he wants to say more, wants to say “ _I understand_ ,” and “ _goodbye_ ” because Andrew has made his wish pretty fucking clear and he doesn’t deserve Neil to make a scene out of this, but he _can’t_ , because in these past few weeks and months and years he’s learned not to lie, especially not to Andrew, and he won’t break that vow to himself just because it didn’t mean anything to Andrew. He breathes again, and his eyes are starting to burn unpleasantly; his face feels hot with shame and pain and whatever else that ache in his chest means, the one that makes him fight for air as though he’s caught in a torrent, and Neil turns away without looking at Andrew, doesn’t want to see the disgust that’s got to be written there, the relief that finally he’s gone through with it and is getting rid of Neil now. It must be fucking great. Neil would have kicked himself to the curb so many times over, had he been in Andrew’s shoes, he thinks he’d have lost count. 

It’s really the wrong time for Andrew to end this, Neil tells himself. The nineteenth of January has never been a good day for him; surely that’s why he’s feeling so fragile right now, why he hunches his shoulders and curls in on himself when Andrew calls his name, why his lower lip is wobbly and he feels close to tears just at the thought of having to leave behind all _this_. 

Then again, he should probably be glad he’s got to have it for as long as he did. 

“Shhhh,” Neil says, irrationally, not wanting to hear it and not wanting to hurt Andrew by cutting him off more harshly. “That’s alright.” He can’t bear to have excuses thrown his way right now, explanations that won’t make sense, or even just vague subterfuges. 

Then there’s Andrew’s body heat right at his back, but he doesn’t touch him yet, and then there’s a whispered “ _Yes or no?_ ”, barely audible, and Neil can’t help himself. One last time, he tells himself. One last time he’ll let himself have this, and then he’ll do whatever Andrew needs or wants of him, even if it means that he’ll never get to see him again. So he nods, says ‘ _yes_ ’, and leans back into Andrew’s warmth, whose hands immediately come up to cover Neil’s own where they’re wrapped around his arms in a desperate attempt to hold himself together, and _fuck_ , but this hurts. 

Andrew’s presence immediately envelops him in that familiar way; his scent and his warmth, and his strong, strong arms, close but never close enough, and Neil wants him to never let go. A tear slips free, rolls down his cheek, quickly followed by another, and Neil carefully steels his breath, heart thudding painfully, suddenly so very afraid that Andrew might realize he’s crying. 

He’s not sure what he’ll do faced with that particular humiliation. Can’t imagine how Andrew would react. His thoughts are hazy, scattered. The old, long since healed scars on his face burn as though the salt of his tears hits a fresh wound. And maybe it does; it’s just one in his heart now, where he isn’t sure he’ll ever manage to patch it up properly. 

A cat meows, and Trixie whines up at him from where he only now realizes she’s perched on top of his feet in that way that always, sooner or later, manages to send one of them flying because of the high tripping-factor of that particular sleeping place of hers, and Neil realizes he’ll probably leave her here with Andrew when he leaves, and before his mind catches up with that particularly painful clench of his heart, Neil finds himself blurting, “Take good care of her, yeah?” and he doesn’t say ‘please’ because he knows damn well better, but he wouldn’t hesitate to beg if it meant that Trixie would get to keep the good life they’d built here. At least one of them should have to make it, and somehow Neil has always known that it wouldn’t be him. 

“What are you talking about?”

“She can stay here with you, can’t she? I mean—I’ll leave right now if you want me to, but, p— don’t do that to her. Don’t take the cats away from her. They’re good for her. Good for each other.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Neil.”

“It’s just—I’m always nothing, aren’t I? Always have been and always will be. There’s no one out there who’d care about what happened to me. And Trixie deserves the good life. Don’t make me take her with me.”

Andrew’s body feels tense where it’s pressed against Neil’s, and his hands are almost painful where he’s still clenched them around Neil’s. His voice is dangerously low when he says, carefully, “Neil. What the fuck are you talking about?”

Neil shivers. A tear escapes from where they’ve gathered on his chin, drops down and falls, until it lands on Andrew’s hand. Impossibly, his body tenses further, and his hands let go as if he only now realizes that he’s probably left bruises to last Neil a few days. “Neil,” Andrew says again. “Talk to me.” His voice isn’t steady any longer; he sounds almost frightened now, and Neil doesn’t _understand_. 

“I—” he says, takes a breath. He’s got to keep his voice steady. Calm. Even if the rest of him feels as though the storm’s just waiting to happen, turmoil roiling in his gut like waves strong enough to crush a ship. “I’m nothing,” he repeats. There’s his father’s face in the forefront of his mind, and when he smiles his lips are stained with blood. His mother is a motionless body on the kitchen floor behind him. She’s tried to give Nathaniel a birthday cupcake. It had six candles on it. His father didn’t like that, didn’t want his son growing up weak and coddled. Nathaniel wouldn’t grow up to be _anybody_ like this, would stay the same useless nobody, _nothing_ , he was right now. That day, the blood splatters on his face hadn’t been from Nathaniel’s mother, nor from Nathaniel himself, nor one of Father’s victims. They were from Nathaniel’s puppy instead, the one small, fluffy one that he’d found abandoned in a trash can on his way to kindergarten and that he’d taken home with him, had nursed back to health with meat from the dinner table and milk from the fridge, and because it was his birthday he’d thought maybe he could show his new friend the house, show him the nooks and crannies where they could hide and play when the puppy was healthy again, and then his father had started screaming at his mother somewhere else in the house and the puppy had yowled, scared and frightened despite Nathaniel’s best attempts to comfort it, and then his father had stood in the kitchen doorway with sugar-coated sticky fingers and a knife in his hand and Nathaniel wanted to look away but he couldn’t because he wouldn’t leave his _friend_ alone, even if it meant— 

Neil’s whole body shakes and he’s suddenly afraid he’s going to fall apart, that this will be the thing that turns out to be _too much_ , but he’s got to say this now, or he never will, and he doesn’t think he could stand these things being left unsaid. Andrew’s a steady heat at his back, but Neil isn’t sure if it’s just him who’s shaking, or if maybe, it’s Andrew, too. 

“I’m nothing, and you’re—you’re _everything_ , Andrew. You’re so much more than you used to give yourself credit for. You’re honest and loyal and strong and gentle and unrelenting, and you’re so, so _good_ , and caring and you— I’m sure you’ve found someone to tell you that, someone that you can actually trust and _believe_ , and you’ve finally realized that I don’t deserve you. That you don’t deserve to be saddled with me, because you deserve so much better, so much _more_ , and I—I can’t give you that. I can’t give you anything, because I’m not—not worth anything, and I’ll never amount to anything, and I’ll just always be a useless nobody who just can’t stop fucking up and I—”

It took a while, after Neil started talking, but eventually Andrew’s become still, his shaking ceased, and now he suddenly pulls away from Neil as if realizing just how right he is in what he says, how Andrew now doesn’t have to play at this any longer and can just be up-front with his disgust about Neil and—

There’s a warm hand on his jaw, snapping his mouth shut, gently but forcefully. Andrew’s gaze on his is an inferno, a storm in its own might. But his voice in dangerously calm when he says, “These are not your words.” He waits for Neil’s reaction to confirm his suspicion, and of course it’s today that Neil can’t conceal his flinch. His eyes narrow, voice sharper. “Who said them to you.”

It’s not a question. It’s a demand and an accusation all in one, and Neil’s lips are numb when he answers, “My father.”

A beat.

Andrew’s eyes continue to blaze, as though they want to consume Neil, body and soul, hair and skin and bones. He thinks he would happily let them. Maybe there’ll even raise a phoenix out of the ashes. 

The second stretches. Andrew’s voice is just a bit more gentle when he asks another question, and it’s one whose answer Neil’s been dreading to be confronted with. “What day is today?”

“The nineteenth of January,” Neil says, even though he knows that’s not what Andrew’s asking. There’s six candles burning, and the fire’s catching on soft white-brown-black fur, smoke and blood. “My birthday.”

The words don’t taste like anything. They’re just… grey. The way he supposes he’ll see the world from now on, now that he’s had his chance at living in colors with Andrew. 

But he’s nothing. 

It’s fine. 

He hates that he always seems to get poetic when his emotions are roiling high. Hates that he’s let himself be emotionally invested at all. 

He should have known better. 

Really. 

But the part of him, the stubborn one that’d taken in the stray cat at age seven, and made _sure_ that she’d always stayed out of his father’s sight, that part protested violently. It’s just been the wrong time and wrong day for Andrew to say that. Neil hasn’t been thinking clearly. But Andrew couldn’t know that because he doesn’t know anything about this day. Doesn’t know what it means, and what it _doesn’t_ mean. He shouldn’t jump to conclusions. He should let Andrew find his words and give him time; give him the chance to _explain_. 

He does. 

“It’s easier to say that this is nothing than to admit what it means to me,” Andrew says. He hasn’t let go of Neil, and it doesn’t look as though he has any intention of ever doing so. His eyes don’t flicker once from Neil’s. “But let me make clear that I’ve never, ever said that _you_ are nothing. I’m not used to getting what I want. To being allowed to _keep_ it. Good things have always been taken away from me. Always. So when I have a nightmare about the people that used to take these things away from me, and I just couldn’t shake it the whole day because there’s just so much about it that still gets to me, then it’s instinctive to say that this is nothing. Because this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, but if I say it’s nothing, then maybe they won’t come to take it away from me. It’s not rational, Neil. I know that. But I want you to know that too. I want you to look at me and believe me when I say that you aren’t nothing. This is Something and you are Everything, and I don’t know what I would do without you. Ever.” 

Neil breathes. 

His eyes sting and there’s more than one tear now. 

Andrew’s hands are big enough so that he can cup Neil’s face and swipe his thumb over Neil’s cheekbone, wipe the tears away.

Some of them, at least. He doesn’t manage to catch all of them. 

It doesn’t matter. 

He kisses away the rest. 

Andrew breathes, and Neil’s heartbeat matches his.

 

It’s not over just like that. 

They talk. 

It’s painful. 

But they make it through, alive for another day. 

Together. 

And always is not a promise because they promised to stay truthful, to be honest, and they know they can’t promise always.

But neither of them can imagine _this_ ending.

 

And Neil lives and breathes and loves.

(And Andrew does, too.)

 

(And then Trixie licks at Neil’s naked toes and he squeaks and the cats yowl and Andrew laughs and it doesn’t matter if they’re both crying now.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really hope you liked it, and who knows, maybe trixie and andreil might come back sometime :)
> 
> (on an unrelated note and for those interested: the idea for this tidbit actually came already when i was in the middle of writing the first part, and these were my notes about what i'd have to write:   
> ‘Andrew doesn’t insist that Neil is nothing, but that he’s Something and Everything because he’s spent so long being nothing, and when andrew first says that this, this wonderful thing between them, and that Neil is nothing, it’s,, it kills him. and andrew sees it and while he’s not quite ready to confront his feeling yet he can’t just leave it at that and he’s being honest, talking to neil about what’s going on and omg i’m having feelings.’) heh. i'm a bit tired at the moment, and i think i'll stop talking now. 
> 
> thank you all for your comments and your kudos, though, means the world to me. <3

**Author's Note:**

> i don't have a posting schedule for the next two chapters, but i reckon they'll be up within two weeks tops.
> 
> thank you for reading this, and let me know if you enjoyed it :)


End file.
